


Counting Shadows in the Dead of Night

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-08
Updated: 2008-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well," Remus told Harry, his body glowing translucent in the moonlight, "if you're wondering why you're having such trouble accepting that Teddy has crossed that boundary, as it were, into your son's bed, you might ask yourself if it's because you regret that I never did the same, crossing into yours."</p><p>~10,000 words. NC-17. Some dark themes. Written for hpvalensmut. February 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Shadows in the Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is not chan, and not AU, despite what the pairings might indicate. ;) DH-compliant. Thanks to Flora and Smoke for the beta work.

He couldn't hear them, but the shifting energy in the house gave them away nonetheless. Harry sat up in bed, angling his head and frowning.

Teddy was fucking Harry's son again.

He slipped out of bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake Ginny, grabbed his wand and crept down the hall. The clock downstairs ticked softly and the rain pattered outside the windows like the low-volume background of a painting, but apart from that, the house was silent.

One or the other of those boys was really damn good at Silencing Charms.

Harry tapped his wand to James's bedroom door and murmured a string of words under his breath. They were good at Silencing Charms, but they weren't terribly good at remembering that Aurors could disable them after so much as a day's basic training. He stood rooted to the spot as the sound filtered through to him – just him, he wasn't an idiot; he didn't need Ginny or the other kids out here listening to this – like the volume slowly being turned up from inside the room.

It was the groans that got to him first. That was his son, moaning like a whore over another man's cock.

"God, _fuck_, yes," James muttered against the rustling sheets before his voice was overwhelmed by the rattling of the bed posts against the wall.

"Quiet," another voice urged, low and rough.

"They can't fucking hear anything," James said, moaning again. "_Harder_, Teddy. God."

"You like it hard?" the low voice said, breathing deeply. "Spread wider for me, then. Come on. Up against the– _yeah_, like that. God, you feel good."

Harry clenched his fists and slid the Charm back in place, closing his eyes as the sounds seeped gradually away, as though they'd swirled down a funnel. He stood in silence again, staring at James's door and wondering when Teddy, this child he'd raised nearly as his own, had decided to pay him back by seducing a boy who should be like a brother to him. It didn't matter that James was eighteen now and could make his own decisions; there were lines that families just didn't cross, his included.

Desire shouldn't have anything to do with it. Sometimes a person just couldn't have what he wanted, after all.

 

***

 

He crawled back into bed and punched at his pillow, trying to manipulate it into a position that might actually allow him to sleep. He didn't want to think about his son. He didn't want to think about who was fucking his son. He didn't want to think about the way blue hair framed a face Harry's memory knew by heart, except with fifteen years shaved off and no worry lines – no _werewolf _lines – to speak of.

When he opened his eyes again, a man in a dark Muggle business suit was sitting in a chair across from the bed.

He was cloaked in shadow, only the barest slice of moonbeam falling across his form as he silently watched Harry. Leaning forward on his elbows, he pushed a lock of stray, graying hair out of his eyes and smiled faintly. Harry could barely make out the lines on his face before his own eyes widened and he sat up.

"God," he murmured. "_Remus_?"

The shadowed figure inclined its head. "Hello, Harry." His voice was low but his tone pleasant, and a wave of nostalgia and grief washed over Harry. "How are you?"

"I–" Harry swallowed, struggling against the sheets twisted around his legs. "I'm fine. I mean, I'm– _alive_. I think." He frowned. Remus hadn't been buried in a Muggle _suit_. "Uh. How are you?"

Remus shrugged, still leaning over his knees with his hands clasped. "Oh, you know how it is. You have your good days and your bad days." His lips twisted and Harry could have sworn he was suppressing a grin. He bent his head and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a package and tapping one end. "Do you mind?" he asked as an afterthought, cupping his hand over the cigarette.

Harry shook his head, and Remus clicked his fingers, inhaling deeply as the fag caught light. The shadows melted around him in the glow that flared only for a second, bathing him in orange and gold. It was indeed Remus Lupin as he'd looked when Harry had last seen him – but without the signs of exhaustion and stress that had plagued that Remus. He blew a thin stream of smoke in the air, watching it swirl upward until it melted into nothing at all.

"Filthy habit," he sighed, tapping the butt over the carpet, "but I'm afraid it's one I've picked up since last we spoke." He spread his hands, as though to plead for leniency. "They tell me it won't actually affect my health, so I thought, why not?" That faint smile was back, curling just over the edges of his mouth in ways that spoke of wry amusement with the universe as a whole.

"What are you doing here?" Harry blurted, patting his chest and thighs to make sure he had pyjamas on. Wouldn't it be just like the ghost, or Inferius, or whatever this was, of Remus Lupin to show up on a night Harry was sleeping starkers. His t-shirt and pyjama bottoms assured, he took a deep breath. "Are you a ghost?"

"Oh yes, I imagine so," said Remus, taking another drag. "Or something your imagination has conjured, at any rate. In which case, I might in fact ask _you_ the question: do you mind telling me what I'm doing here?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and thought about that. "Your son is shagging my son," he said after a moment.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Is he?" He looked impressed, and that damn smile was back.

"No. Just. Don't look so _amused_, dammit." Harry sighed. "That was the last thing I remember thinking about when I fell asleep, so you being here must have something to do with that."

"Sounds like a logical connection, yes." Remus was quiet for a moment. "Ah," he added, as though thinking out loud. "How old is your son, then?"

"No, it's not that, he's old enough, eighteen this year, it's just that–"

"Then what's the problem?" He paused again. "Ah," he repeated, scratching his jaw. "You'd rather he was shagging your daughter, I suppose?"

"My daughter's fifteen!" cried Harry. "I don't want him shagging any of my kids, for God's sake! He's... _family_."

Remus was quiet. "Well," he said after a moment, pinching his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and taking one last drag, "I'm delighted to hear that you think of him as such, Harry, but if you're wondering why you're having such trouble accepting that he's crossed that boundary, as it were, into your son's bed, you might ask yourself if it's because you regret that I never did the same, crossing into yours."

Harry awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

***

 

"Morning." James looked up from his tea and grinned at his father, only to have the grin falter halfway. "God. What happened to you? You look like hell."

"Thanks. Not all of us got so lucky last night," grumbled Harry, reaching for the fridge door.

"What?"

"Nothing." He yawned. "Sleep well?"

James shrugged, closing the _Prophet_. "Sure, you know me. I've never been the one with nightmares." He eyed his father carefully, and Harry snorted. That was true enough. James was the eldest child, the rock of the family - more reliable even than Harry, most days. Albus Severus seemed destined to carry the burdens of the world in much the same way his namesakes had, judging by the way he'd tossed and turned at night as a child, and Lily generally did whatever got her the most praise and attention, either going to bed on cue or screaming half the night. None of their demons ever compared to Harry's, though, something only James ever seemed to suspect.

"Not a nightmare," said Harry, draining a glass of juice and wiping his mouth. "Just... weird dreams."

James gave him a sympathetic smile. "I think that can be expected this week," he said, and Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah. I know. You're worse than your mother, you know, with all your worrying about me." He grabbed the bread from the box and started slicing some for toast. "So. You got a job yet?"

"Oh, nice. Change the subject, why don't you?"

Harry grinned over his shoulder.

"_No_, I don't have a job yet, thank you so much for asking. _You're _worse than Al."

"What?" A groggy voice stumbled into the kitchen. "I told you not to fucking talk about me when I'm not here." Al hit James in the back of the head, and James whirled around to grab his arm and bend it back.

"Fuck you! That hurt."

"Let go of my arm!"

"Language!" roared Harry, pulling his wand on the pair of them. "Are you insane, letting your mother and sister hear you talk that way?"

"Sorry," mumbled James, releasing his hold on his brother, while Al rolled his eyes and started rooting through the cupboard for the coffee grounds.

"You're too young for coffee," said Harry reflexively, but Al ignored him.

"Why don't we go back to asking Captain Wanker here if he's got a job yet?"

"_Language_," repeated Harry, glaring at Al. "You're home this week as a favour to me, but put one toe out of line, and you'll be back at school, revising for your exams with everyone else."

"Yeah, yeah," said Al, slumping into a chair while the coffee maker grunted to life on the counter. "I don't know why he won't just suck up his pride and ask Teddy for a job."

Harry glanced over at James. "Teddy?"

James shrugged, shifting in his chair. "What? No, it's just– I couldn't ask him. He– you know. Shouldn't have to do favours for me."

Harry looked back and forth between his sons, anxious for some sign that would confirm what he already knew about James and Teddy.

"Uh-huh," grunted Al, burying his head in his arms over the table and making faux snoring noises. "Whatever. That still makes you a deadbeat, if you ask me. God, I'm knackered."

Harry sighed, buttering his toast and trying to avoid looking at the cover of the _Prophet_ as he took a seat at the table. This week was going to be hell, and it had only just begun.

***

 

The next night, the groans from James's bedroom shuddered through Harry's mind louder than ever before. _They have a Silencing Charm up for a reason_, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut and resisting the urge to pull the pillow right over his head. _If they're going to sneak around and shag every night, it's not your business_.

Respect their privacy. Right. He tried counting sheep, and when that didn't work, he opened his eyes and rolled to one side, watching Ginny's peaceful face as she breathed evenly, seemingly untroubled by any such dreams or thoughts that plagued Harry. He tried to distract himself by imagining her naked, her body on display for him, thinking of how she never denied any of his desires. His breath sped up and his body began to harden, and he closed his eyes again to focus on his fantasy.

_God, Teddy. You fuck like an animal. Just like your dad probably did, yeah? Just like a brutal, fucking animal, howling when you come._

Harry sat upright, swallowing hard and pushing the damp hair off his forehead. He was going to _kill_ James. Throwing the blankets off, he jumped out of bed and stormed down the hall, stopping abruptly just outside James's bedroom and squeezing his fist tightly at his side to keep himself from pounding on the door. He let out a slow, angry breath before muttering the spell to cancel their Silencing Charm, wandless this time.

"We shouldn't be doing this, you know." That was Teddy's voice, deeper than James's and much more sombre. He sounded quiet, resigned, as though the main act was already complete. Harry fought the vision that formed in his mind of the two of them lying tangled together, sated and exhausted, murmuring to each other the way lovers did in the afterglow of climax. He bit his lip.

"Oh, you're always saying that. What's wrong with what we're doing?" That was James, petulant in ways that didn't suit him. Harry furrowed his brow.

"Your dad would kill me if he knew."

"My dad's not here, is he? So, stop worrying about that."

"You don't understand. I have a responsibility to him. I'm too old for you, and I just–" Teddy sighed. "We shouldn't be doing this."

The sheets rustled, and Harry imagined James's narrowed eyes and determined face as he gazed at Teddy. "Do you want to be with me?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Teddy sighed. "God. Yes. Of course I do. You're–"

"Then leave it at that. Don't overthink it." There was silence for a moment, punctuated only by more rustling of the sheets and the slow rhythm of tiny gasps and grunts that grew gradually louder. "Come here," breathed James, and Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to walk away.

"Oh my God, your _mouth_." Teddy's voice was choked, as though he couldn't help but give in, and couldn't help but feel desperately disappointed in himself that he did. "Roll over," murmured Teddy. "Once more, come on. For me. Just let me–"

Harry clenched his jaw and Silenced the room again, unwilling to examine his own racing heart and the way their conversation had punched him in the gut. He made his way back to his own bedroom, his hands trembling, and crawled into bed.

"Ah. You're back."

He sat up again and flailed a bit in the dark, before his eyes finally settled on the chair across the room again.

"Remus?" he cried. "_I'm_ back? What the hell? _You're _the one who's back! Stop– just– what are you doing here?"

Remus rubbed at his jaw, leaning back in the chair. He was still wearing most of the suit from the previous night, but without the jacket. His shirt was white and crisp, and the charcoal of his trousers bled into the midnight shadow. "Don't tell me you were just eavesdropping on those poor boys, Harry."

Harry shifted under the covers, the blankets twisting around his legs. "I– _no_. I was just– getting some water."

Remus regarded him. "It's a bit pathetic to lie to your own subconscious, don't you think?"

"I'm not– I'm–" Harry sighed loudly, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "This is insane. You're not really _here_. Why can't I just– why can't you–"

"Harry."

He swallowed and raised his eyes, feeling embarrassed and angry and hurt and – he didn't even know what else. "Why are you _here_?" he asked slowly, the words fumbling through his dry mouth.

In response, Remus moistened his own lips, the faint slip of his tongue drawing Harry's gaze as it swept over his mouth lightly, in shadow, and then his fingers moved to his shirt. With slow, methodical movements, never taking his eyes off Harry, Remus pushed the buttons through their holes, one after the other, not stopping until he reached the last one and the fabric fell open. A sliver of moonlight shone across his chest, highlighting tanned skin and a light covering of gray-brown hair, and Harry sucked in a shuddering breath at the sight. "You know why I'm here," said Remus at last, his voice low and rough, a tone Harry had never heard him use in life. "You know what you want from me."

"I don't," whispered Harry, not moving his eyes away.

"You do."

Harry stared, his mind racing and his body struggling to keep up with the stream of decadent thoughts. He _did_ know what he wanted, of course: he wanted to jump out of bed, stride across that room and straddle Remus in that chair. He wanted to tear his trousers open along with that shirt. He wanted to grind his hips in hard and make them both come, hot and sweaty with his mouth on Remus's neck and his hands fisted in Remus's hair. He wanted– he wanted –

"You're allowed to want," murmured Remus, his hands resting on his thighs as he licked his lips again, his chest still on display.

"No, I'm not," said Harry, his throat raw.

"Why?"

"You– you're family," he bit out. "My dad. What would he– I mean." He frowned. "You never did this when you were alive," he said accusingly, gesturing at Remus's open shirt.

"Did you want me to?" Remus was as calm as gently rippling water, so in contrast to the turmoil in Harry's head and body that he could hardly breathe.

"Did I want you to _what_?" he shouted, finally at his wit's end as he jumped out of bed and stormed over to the chair, glowering. "Show up in my bedroom in the middle of the night and take your clothes off? I was just a kid. Of course I didn't want that." He paused, his chest heaving. "I was just a _kid_, Remus. I was trying to save the whole fucking world, save _you_, and I couldn't do that. I couldn't– I just– I–" He swallowed hard, his mouth feeling as thick as if it were coated in cotton. He stared at the man before him and inhaled deeply, a shuddering breath that wracked his lungs. "Of course I wanted you to," he whispered at last, crumpling to his knees.

"Harry," said Remus, his voice calm and kind. "You're not a kid anymore." He slid the shirt off his shoulders, sitting forward in the sliver of light coming in from the window, and Harry gasped.

"This isn't real," murmured Harry, his hands sliding up to Remus's knees, palms hot over Remus's thighs. "You're dead because of me, and I can't have this, can I?" He looked up at Remus for an answer. "It's too late, and I can't have this."

"Yes," sighed Remus, and as he spoke, the chair began to glide backwards, away from Harry's hands as though fading away down an infinite tunnel. Remus's voice turned hollow, echoing into the night as Harry sat shivering on the floor. "I'm dead because of you."

He woke up gasping for air, clutching at his throat, with a crick in his neck and his limbs splayed out on his bedroom floor.

***

 

"Morning." James nearly always rose first in their house, something that Ginny found admirable and Harry found slightly grating. Smug little brat, making tea and cheerily greeting the other family members as they stumbled downstairs with crust in their eyes and their hair standing on end.

Harry made a grunting noise as he shuffled into the kitchen, pausing over the sink to yawn and moisten dry lips. When he turned around again, he found James watching him carefully. "What?"

James shrugged, dropping his eyes back to the _Prophet_. "Nothing," he mumbled, and Harry fumbled in the cupboard for a cup. "It's just that–" James spoke up again, and Harry glanced over.

"_What_?"

"Just." He sighed. "Have you been sleeping all right?" he asked quietly, and Harry winced. He considered lying, but James would be too clever for that.

"Not really," he admitted, pouring his tea and leaning back against the counter to blow on it. "But quit worrying," he added. "I'm fine."

James raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just insulting my intelligence," he said with a faint smile.

"I don't need this from you, okay?" Harry's voice came out harder than he'd intended, but he didn't relent. "Your mother is quite capable of taking care of the business of fussing over me this week and worrying about if I'm eating enough or sleeping enough or what have you. You just go about your business. I'm _fine_."

James fidgeted with the edge of the newspaper. "I heard you last night," he said at last, not raising his eyes, "wandering around the house."

"I wasn't wandering around the house," snapped Harry, before he could even think about the lie.

"I heard you outside my door." James looked up at last, his jaw clenched.

Harry met his gaze, letting the silence stretch out between them for a long moment. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he said quietly, raising the teacup to his mouth.

James met his stare head-on. "Like what?" He sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, and Harry had been through enough battles to know when he was being challenged to a duel. He looked at his eldest son and saw his mirror image, only with a few details rearranged: unruly black hair and a slim build, but dark eyes Harry didn't always recognise, and none of the weight on his shoulders that Harry had visibly carried at eighteen. In the post-Voldemort world Harry had helped ensure, James could have anything he wanted, _be_ anything he wanted. One of these years, Harry knew he would have to stop being jealous of that.

He dropped his eyes and shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered, taking his tea and heading to the living room. "Never mind."

***

 

The moon shone high in the sky the next night, like a carved circle of silver-blue ice floating through the upstairs windows. Harry had watched from down the hall as James had cleaned his teeth and headed to his bedroom, not glancing back at his father before closing the door. He'd stood, trembling, in the corridor for several long, heavy minutes while the rest of the house went to bed and the noise of bodies and water and closet doors faded to nothing at all but the sound of Harry's soft breathing.

"Coming?" said Ginny with a yawn, poking her head out from their bedroom, her face pale and her eyes pleading.

"Yeah," he said, more to himself than to her. "Just a second."

"Harry, please," she insisted. "You need to sleep, and you'll just wake the kids up, wandering around out there."

"I said I'm coming," he snapped, and she dropped her eyes, her jaw tight and her knuckles stretched thin over the door frame. She nodded after a moment, waving him off and retreating back inside the bedroom. The door clicked shut with a slow, mournful sound.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, shadows creeping up the corners of his mind and the darkness of his dreams cancelling the brightness of the moon. It was such a cliché to talk about the demons, especially on a week like this one, and giving into any such ideas that he was haunted by dreams, memories or dead bodies made Harry sick. He was the Boy Who fucking _Lived_. He figured it was somehow beneath him to cave to such pedestrian psychological stresses as nightmares.

Pressing his lips together, he resolved to put this nonsense behind him and get a solid night's sleep. James could shag whomever he wanted; it just wasn't Harry's business, and the sooner he accepted that, the better. A soft _swish_ echoed down the hall at that moment, and Harry opened his eyes to see a shadowed figure in a charcoal suit moving almost silently past James's bedroom door. It approached him with its head bowed, and with a jolt to his stomach, Harry could have sworn he saw a lock of blue hair in the sliver of moonlight.

"Teddy," he breathed, flattening himself further against the wall as the figure moved closer. "I _knew_ it."

"No, Harry," a familiar voice said, and Harry felt a shiver ripple through him. "Not Teddy." The figure took slow, deliberate steps, its countenance now much more like a man made of solid flesh and bone than the spectre it had seemed only a minute earlier. It stood before Harry and raised its head at last, hair falling off its face as light splashed over it, and Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"Stop it," he whispered, pressing himself into the wall as much as he could, trying to escape the figure's proximity. "You're dead, Remus. You can't keep showing up like this."

That vaguely amused expression was back, twisting Remus's lips as he leaned back against the opposite wall, watching Harry. "You still don't understand, Harry. I'm not here because I want to be. I'm here because _you_ want me to be."

"Why would I want you here?" Harry bit out. "Why would I want that, huh? You're fucking insane. Or, Jesus, _I'm_ fucking insane." He scrubbed his hands over his face, willing the apparition to evaporate, but when he peered out from between his fingers, Remus was still there.

"You might be that, yes." Remus dug into his jacket pocket again, pulling out the same package of cigarettes and tapping one out. He lit it just as before, wordlessly and wandlessly, with a pass of thick fingers over the end. It flared to life and Remus inhaled deeply, blowing a stream of silver smoke out across the hall. "We seem to have some unfinished business, though, don't we?" He paused to pick a piece of tobacco off his tongue, and Harry found his eyes glued to the curve of Remus's mouth, the wetness of the tongue that slipped out for only a split second. "Tell me why you're dreaming of me," added Remus, his voice calm but firm.

Harry thought about all the ways he could respond, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words wouldn't come. He finally shook his head. "I don't know why."

Remus took a step closer, the cigarette clenched between his fingers. "Tell me why you're dreaming of me," he repeated, a sharper edge to his voice.

Harry shook his head, reflexively checking his pockets for his wand and cursing when he remembered that it was downstairs on the kitchen table.

Another step closer, and the smoke began to seep into Harry's eyes. "Tell me, Harry." Remus's voice grew cold as his gaze locked on Harry. "Why are you dreaming of me?"

"I told you before," said Harry, running a hand over his face and slumping against the wall. "You're dead because of me. You should never have been at that battle." He paused, trying to swallow as his throat closed up. "You had a little baby at home, and– and– a _wife_, a family, and I– you just– you shouldn't have died. I can't take it back, that you died, and I just–"

"You're lying." Remus's voice was laced with ice now, sharp around the edges and frosted with glass. "You're sorry _all _of them are dead – of course you are! What kind of heartless monster wouldn't be sorry for that? So why aren't you dreaming of Snape, Harry? It was your fault he died, too, wasn't it?" He moved even closer, the smoke clogging Harry's mouth and nose and making his eyes water.

"No. Listen, I just–"

"Why aren't you dreaming of Fred, Harry? It was your fault _he_ died."

"Stop it."

"Why aren't you dreaming of Colin Creevey? It was your fault _he _died, too." Remus's body was pressed up against Harry now, locking him against the wall and covering him with hard muscle and smoky words.

"Let me go," whispered Harry, turning his face away.

"Why me, Harry?" pressed Remus, his fingers sliding up Harry's hips. "Tell me why."

"Shut up. God, just shut _up_."

"Tell me why."

"Fucking _stop it_. God. This is just–"

"Tell me." Remus pushed his thigh in harder, catching Harry's hip. A low, guttural moan rose from Harry's chest before he could stop it, and his hands shot out to grab Remus's arms and pin them to his sides.

"_Stop_."

Remus leaned his head in, his nose brushing through Harry's hair and over the shell of his ear, before his lips came to rest over Harry's earlobe. "Tell me it's because you want me, Harry," he murmured in Harry's ear, and that was it; Harry was done for.

With a gasping moan, he shoved Remus back across the hall, never releasing his arms, and reversed their positions, pinning him against the opposite wall and letting his own weight fall heavy and insistent over Remus's body. His fingers tightened around Remus's forearms, locking them against the wall as his mouth crushed into Remus's, hot and wet and with all the drive of pure, uncensored lust rising up from his body. He parted his lips and pushed his tongue against Remus's, shuddering with pleasure as he realised that Remus was kissing him back, matching him with bruising lips and tangled tongue and a shiver running through his body and out through his struggling arms.

"I want you," admitted Harry at last, whispering the words against Remus's mouth and releasing his arms. Remus's freed hands tugged at Harry's trousers, while Harry's hands slid up Remus's chest to cup his face, leaning back in to renew the kiss. The small noises Remus made shot straight to Harry's groin, his prick growing thick and heavy where it pressed against Remus's hip, and it wasn't enough; he'd wanted this for too long, without even knowing he wanted it. "I didn't know I wanted it till that night you came to us," he continued between kisses, biting at Remus's lower lip and pressing his palms into Remus's chest. "Trying to leave your wife, run off to the woods with us."

Remus gave startled laugh, his fingers curling into Harry's waistband. "_That_ made you want me?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile at the memory, and the ridiculous way a seventeen-year-old boy's brain worked. "She was pregnant," he murmured, his lips moving up Remus's neck, "which meant that you must have had sex with her, which meant–" His teeth scraped against Remus's throat, and the answering groan slid down his body and straight up his cock. "–meant that you had _sex_, you were a person who had sex, you were a man with a cock that got hard and wanted to fuck, you were a man who fucked people." His paused, his lips over Remus's ear. "You were _fuckable_ after that."

"Fuckable." Remus repeated the word with his head tilted back against the wall, the soft breath of the syllables sliding down Harry's spine. "You were terribly angry with me that night, if I recall correctly," he added, pulling back slightly to draw on his cigarette again, giving Harry an amused look. He turned his head to blow the smoke away from them, then offered Harry a drag. He hesitated for a moment but then took it, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and letting the smoke wash through his body, numbing him and floating over him.

"I was." Harry exhaled over Remus's shoulder, handing the fag back as his fingers beginning to push through the button holes of Remus's shirt, "and I barely even knew why. I'm older and wiser now, I guess."

"So now you know why."

"Yeah." Harry's fingers traced over the firm muscle of Remus's chest. "Now I know why. I was just a kid then, and you were, what, thirty-eight?"

"Ah, I get it." Remus leaned in for another kiss, his fingers light in Harry's hair. "And now we're about the same age, is that it?" He moved his hands down, one sliding under Harry's t-shirt to smooth over his lower stomach, and the other brushing over the front of his trousers, sending jolts of pleasure up Harry's prick. "Less to feel guilty about?"

"Yeah," breathed Harry, closing his eyes against the sensations racing through his body. "And you're fuckable, don't forget that. I never forgot that."

"Oh, of course you did, Harry." The fingers continued to skim over the outline of his cock, light and painful, as the words sharpened like knives. "You forgot about me entirely. You married Ginny, produced three fine children... The only reason you're thinking about me now is because of my son – and your son."

Harry opened his eyes, the bliss bleeding out of his body as he looked into Remus's hardening face. "No, I– it's not like that. I just didn't realise it, but I always wanted this. Wanted you."

"No, I don't think you did. Listen to that." Remus stilled, his eyes boring into Harry as he tilted his head to the side. "Do you hear it?"

Without warning, the volume dial from down the hall rotated sharply, and renewed sounds from behind James's bedroom door filled the hallway.

"_Teddy_," James choked out, his voice thick and rough and pleading.

"Lift up," murmured Teddy. "Spread wider for me, come on. Yeah, James, God. Just like that. You fucking tease, hiding that perfect arse from me every day, that thick fucking cock, making me show up here at night and beg for it."

"Are you begging now?" said James, moaning low in his throat. "You want this arse?"

"_Wider_, I said." Teddy's voice was a growl now, and outside in the hall, Harry had to clench his jaw shut to keep from groaning. Remus's fingers continued to brush over his prick at a maddeningly slow pace, and without meaning to, Harry dropped his head to Remus's shoulder, an unnamed shadow and sense of dread washing over him. "Push back," said Teddy. "Relax, yeah? You can take it, just have to relax and let me–"

"_God_, there. Teddy, fuck. Push it there. Yeah. Do that again."

"No," muttered Harry, his mouth dry and his forehead covered in sweat where it met Remus's shoulder. "Make it stop. I don't want to hear this."

But Remus's hand wouldn't leave his groin, rubbing with increasing insistence over Harry's cock as his other hand came up to thread through Harry's hair. "You don't want to hear _what_?" snapped Remus. "Do you think your father would have listened to _us_ shagging? Had he lived, do you think for a second that he would have let me seduce you, then stand outside your bedroom door and get hard from listening to me spread you open and fuck you hard? Your father would have had my bollocks in a sling for even _thinking_ about this, never mind actually doing it." He glanced down at his hand, still stroking Harry's prick through his trousers as his voice rose. "Yet here you are, right outside your son's bedroom, and you aren't doing anything about it but get hard and dream of shagging me, dream of having Teddy's father do all the things to you that Teddy's doing to your son right now."

"Stop," Harry whispered, closing his eyes and willing himself to wake up. _It's all a dream_, he told himself, desire and anger and confusion splashing through his veins. _It's all a nightmare_. But when he opened his eyes again, Remus was still there, dropping his cigarette butt to the floor and stamping it out with his boot, his fingers finally lifting away from Harry's cock.

"You want it to stop?" he asked, his calm voice finally shedding the harshness and anger that had uncharacteristically coloured his speech that night. He stepped away from Harry, moving down the hall again before pausing to glance back over his shoulder to where Harry stood crumpled against the wall.

"Yes," groaned Harry, rubbing his eyes.

Remus pointed at James's door. "You might start by asking yourself how Teddy could possibly have entered that room, when you've been standing out here watching since before James went to bed."

With a gasping, shuddering breath, Harry woke up alone on the corridor floor, slumped against the wall with his knees at his chest, his t-shirt pushed up and his prick still hard. Halfway down the hall, James stood in his pyjama bottoms, bare feet rooted to the floor and a dim light from his bedroom seeping through the open door. He stared at Harry.

***

 

"Morning." Harry was the first to speak this time, shuffling into the kitchen and tugging a hand through his messy hair. He dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed his eyes.

"Morning." James's voice was stiff, and Harry couldn't tell if he raised his eyes from the newspaper to look at his father, since he himself refused to look at James. He hadn't let James speak the night before, giving him a quick, _I'm fine_, before heading off to his own bed, and he was rather hoping they could leave it at that. "Any tea left?" James added, directing his question to Ginny, wrapped in a bathrobe and filling the kettle with fresh water.

"In a second," she said, and Harry glanced up at her to find her smiling sadly at their son. "Harry," she added, turning to him, "when you're awake, we need to talk."

"No, mum," interrupted James, his knuckles white around the edge of the newspaper, crumpled in one fist. He gave her a pleading look, and Harry glanced back and forth between them with growing alarm.

"What?" he said, his brows drawing together.

James and Ginny were exchanging knowing glances, and Harry's head moved more frantically between them, his panic mounting as though trying to watch a tennis match without being able to locate either the ball or the net.

"I'll do it," muttered James, his lips barely moving as pleading eyes rested on his mother, and she sighed, shaking her head.

"Honey, it's not up to you to–"

"_What_?" roared Harry, slamming his palms down on the table. "I'm right here, you know," he bit out. "I can _hear_ you."

Ginny frowned, pushing her hair out of her eyes and leaning back against the counter. "Look, Harry, it's just that–"

"You're a right nutter, is what they're trying to tell you." Three pairs of eyes swung to the kitchen door as Al wandered in, his hair standing straight up and his face still flushed with sleep. He stumbled over to Ginny and draped his arms around her, letting his head fall to her shoulder and his height dwarf her. "Muuuuum," he whinged. "I _hate_ tea. Make me coffee?" He gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and Ginny laughed despite herself, shoving him off. "_Please_," he sang, rubbing at his eyes.

"Make it yourself," she said, pointing him to the cupboard. "And when you're done, you can get your sister up and take her to the store. We'll have a nice dinner tomorrow night before the speeches. Just the five of us." She glanced back at Harry then, her face drawn.

"Fucking speeches," muttered Al, sagging into the counter as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "Why do I have to go, again?"

"Because you're part of this family, and you should shut the hell up sometimes and do what you're bloody told," shouted James, and Harry and Ginny both stared at him. "Yeah, this week is awful, and tomorrow night is going to be awful, and Mum's trying to come up with something to say about Uncle Fred that isn't cliché and stupid, and Dad's got about a hundred speeches to give and he's trying not to have a complete meltdown about the whole thing, and just because you weren't born back then doesn't mean you get to be a complete fucking twat about it." He took a deep breath, slamming his mouth shut and lowering his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled to his parents. "He's just... pissing me off."

Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oh yeah?" Al piped up from across the kitchen, the coffee bag clenched in his fist. "Well, maybe I wasn't born, but I'm the only one around here who seems to understand that they're dead, yeah? They're all fucking _dead_, and it doesn't matter how many ceremonies there are or how many bloody speeches everyone gives, it doesn't _matter_. Commemoration?" He drew the word out in a mocking drawl. "It's bollocks! Commemorating it all doesn't stop Uncle George from putting his fist through the wall once a year when the anniversary comes around. Commemorating it all doesn't stop Teddy from heading down to the bloody soup kitchen once a year to dole out meals to werewolves who he's decided look like his dad."

Harry's eyes flicked to James, who was still breathing hard, his face a mask.

"Al," warned Ginny, trying to touch his arm.

"No!" Al shook her off. "This is _bollocks_. We all creep around this house like he's made of glass–" he pointed at Harry – "and no one will admit that commemorating it all is not going to make him stop wandering around like a fucking lunatic, moaning about Teddy's dad and screaming all his mad shit in the middle of the night about that battle!"

"That's enough!" shouted Ginny, slamming her fist on the counter. "Go get your sister and get out of this house. I want bread, chicken, and something to make a sauce from. And asparagus, if they've got any." She glared at him in that murderous way she had, and Al dropped his head, his nostrils still flaring.

"Fine," he bit out, throwing the bag of coffee grounds on the counter and storming to the kitchen door. He flung it open and barged through, letting it slam closed behind him.

Ginny scrubbed at her face and then looked over at Harry, her eyes full of pity.

"What the hell is he talking about?" said Harry at last, feeling all the colour drain from his face. His voice dropped to a whisper. "What did I say about Teddy's dad?"

But Ginny was silent, and James only shook his head, closing the _Prophet_ and rising from his chair. "I can't do this right now," he told Ginny, and she nodded, dropping her eyes as he left the kitchen.

"What did I say about Teddy's dad?" repeated Harry, his voice quiet and his panic rising as he turned pleading eyes on Ginny.

She pushed her hair back again and lifted her chin with a deep breath. "You're just under stress this week," she said quietly, pouring him a cup of tea and setting it down in front of him with trembling hands. "Have some breakfast. We'll talk later." With that, she too exited the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with thoughts that crept into his mind from the places of shadow that he thought he'd smothered years ago, during a duel in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

***

 

Ginny and the kids didn't mention anything else about it that day, and Harry moved around the house in a sort of fog, unable to examine the workings of his own mind too closely. She held him that night, stroking her hand over his chest and murmuring soothing words in his ear, and he tried to relax and fall asleep, desperate for a normal night of dreaming about Quidditch or the Burrow or even something random like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks wearing top hats and dancing a jig. Anything would be better than the places his mind had been wandering of late, when darkness stole over the house and moonlight slid into his mind and reminded him all too clearly of the man who used to fear moonlight the most.

It was no use.

No sooner had she fallen asleep, than Harry sighed and rolled over to find Remus once again sitting on the chair across the room, hands clasped over his knees and searching eyes moving over Harry's body.

"No," he said, sitting up and shaking his head. "Not again. I will _not_ dream of you tonight."

"We still have unfinished business, Harry." Remus smiled at him, a lock of graying brown hair falling into his eyes and making Harry's chest constrict a little bit.

"Absolutely not. We're finished. We finished all that business last night." He paused, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. "I kissed you, all right, and apparently I'd wanted to do that for awhile, so, fine. It's out of my system. I told you about all sorts of stuff I'd repressed when I was seventeen. Fine. It's done with. I admitted those things to myself, so it's all over. You can go now."

Remus laughed, a soft, soothing sound that glided over Harry's body and seeped into him, making gooseflesh break out over his skin. He pulled his arms around himself. "If we were really finished, Harry," said Remus, rising from the chair, "then I wouldn't be here, would I?" His charcoal suit began to melt away as he walked towards the bed, first the jacket disappearing and then the crisp white shirt, fading from Remus's body as though removed by invisible hands. It unbuttoned itself and slid off his shoulders, trailing away down his back and into the darkness, and Harry couldn't stop the moan that rose from his chest as Remus approached him, shirtless and insistent.

"No," whispered Harry, pushing himself back towards the headboard and struggling for the strength to get up and run.

Remus paused then, standing beside the bed and letting his fingers trail down his bare chest, through the smattering of hair low on his belly and towards the zip of his trousers. "I want to take these off," he murmured, the tips of his fingers disappearing past the fabric.

Harry swallowed, shaking his head as all the blood in his body rushed to his prick. "No. You can't."

With a single swift movement, Remus slid his hands past his hips and let his trousers collapse down his legs, stepping out of them gracefully as Harry gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. He was wearing nothing underneath, and as his boots melted away as well, Harry peeked through heavy lids to find Remus standing before him completely naked. "Watch me," whispered Remus, his hand falling to his prick and stroking lightly.

Harry's eyes were glued to the movement, strong fingers gliding up and down Remus's hardening prick and sweeping over the tip before moving back down to the base again and starting over. He knew in the back of his mind that it was just a dream, a sick, twisted dream, but it was beyond his capabilities to resist. With a deep groan, he tugged at Remus's arm and pulled him down to the bed, shifting as Remus straddled him, letting his knees trap Harry's body to the bed on either side of his hips. "God, come here," muttered Harry, curling a hand around Remus's neck and pulling him down.

He shoved the sheets aside and let Remus press him into the mattress, his own clothes having melted away as well. Hot skin slid against his, and he shuddered as his lips moved over Remus's, matching their kiss of the previous night with even more intensity and passion. His fingers dug into Remus's shoulders as their tongues tangled together, hot and wet but still not _enough_, not enough.

"I'm a man with a cock that gets hard and wants to fuck," Remus breathed into Harry's ear, his prick shoved up against Harry's as their hips ground together. "I'm a man who fucks people, isn't that what you told me?"

Harry pushed his hips up hard, the pressure against his cock racing up his spine and down his thighs. "God. Yes."

"Do you want me to fuck you, Harry?" The voice was still soft but insistent in Harry's ear, the words curling into his consciousness and melting into his flesh.

"Yes," breathed Harry, arching his back and tilting his head into the pillow. Remus attacked his neck, alternating lips, tongue and teeth over the sensitive skin as Harry writhed underneath him.

"Do you know how this works?" asked Remus, pulling back slightly to grin at Harry, the corners of his mouth quirking with amusement as Harry slapped him on the hip.

"I've some idea," he murmured, biting at Remus's lower lip, and Remus laughed, shifting off of him to spread his legs open and murmur a spell, as slick fingers slid down his balls and into the cleft of his arse. Remus's fingers were inside him before he could even grasp what was happening, his legs falling to each side and his hips tilting up. The sensation of it raced through his body, lighting every nerve on fire as his cock thickened and his breath caught.

"I always wanted to debauch you like this, you know. Just like Teddy's doing to your son."

Harry's eyes snapped up. "Don't talk about them," he bit out, groaning as Remus twisted his fingers. "Not now. Jesus. Don't you _dare_ mention–"

"But isn't this what you wanted, Harry?" Remus's voice was smooth as silk as he eased his fingers out and gripped his cock, sliding it into the cleft of Harry's arse and beginning to push forward.

"No, wait, I didn't mean–"

The head of Remus's cock shoved inside him, and Harry's mind went blank as a jolt of sensation sped through his entire body. "You wanted me to fuck you," Remus panted as another inch slid forward, "so that you could stop projecting your desires onto James and Teddy."

"I– what? Oh my God." Harry grabbed the pillowcase under his head and tugged, clenching his fist and letting his body catch fire. Remus shoved the rest of the way inside, his cock lodged deep in Harry's arse, and then he fell over top of Harry, his palms planted on either side of Harry's shoulders.

"You wanted me to fuck you," breathed Remus, lifting Harry's legs up and folding them against his chest as his hips began to pump. "You wanted me when you were seventeen. You looked at my pregnant wife and saw only a hard cock, _my _hard cock, fucking her."

"Oh, God."

"That night I came to you, trying to leave with you, the only thing you wanted was to shove me up against that kitchen wall and drop to your knees, didn't you?" Remus thrust in hard, earning a deep groan and full-bodied shudder from Harry. The bed lurched and the sheets grew damp as they fucked, each shove of Remus's cock into his body filling Harry with a pleasure so intense he could barely find words for it. "You wanted to turn around and shove your trousers down, let me pin you to that wall and push inside you, didn't you?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, his throat raw. "God, _yes_."

"You didn't care what your friends would have thought, or my wife, or even your father, did you? It could never have happened; there was too much against us, but you _wanted it_, Harry, I know you did." Remus's hair fell into his eyes and his biceps flexed with each forward thrust, his cock thickening with each renewed push into Harry's body. "You wanted me to fuck you, just like this. Tell me you wanted it."

"I wanted it," breathed Harry, his hand falling to his own prick and pulling at it with ragged strokes. "I wanted you so fucking badly. I still want you, and you're dead, you're dead, I can't have you..." His mind began to blur as Remus's thrusts sped up, pinning him to the mattress and shoving deep inside his body. The rhythm jerked, and he felt Remus's body tense.

"_Harry_," moaned Remus, the sound rising from his chest in deep, thick waves as his hips slammed up against Harry's arse and stilled, his cock pulsing thick come inside Harry's body. Harry let his mouth fall open at the thrill of it, the wet heat covering his insides and pooling around the cock inside him, and he reached up to push the hair off Remus's forehead.

"Stay with me," he murmured, pulling him down for a deep kiss. "Make me come and stay with me, just like this."

Remus smiled against his lips, reaching a hand down to stroke Harry's dick, hot fingers sliding over damp flesh and –

***

 

The shadows from the moon outside the window fell over Harry's body as he threw his arms over his head, pushing his head back against the pillow and arching his back clear off the bed. His hips convulsed and his hard cock released at last, pulsing in hot, thick waves through his pyjama bottoms as a guttural groan spilled from his mouth and Remus's name echoed from his lips, breathy and desperate and soaked in blackened lust.

His body settled back down against the mattress and began to cool, his hips still twitching and his spine still alive with flames, and only then did he slowly open his eyes.

The blissful smile faded instantly from his face as he found himself alone on the bed, covered in sweat and come and with his legs twisted in damp sheets. Across the room, Ginny stood cowering against the door, her entire body shaking and her eyes in the moonlight filled with cold fear.

***

 

"No," said Harry, sitting up in the bed and shaking his head. "You don't understand. It's not– no. Come here. Just, it's okay."

She watched him carefully. "Are you awake?" she said at last, tiptoeing forward.

"What? Yes, of course I'm awake." He rubbed his eyes, glancing down at his groin as mortification washed over him. With a quick, whispered word, he cleaned the come off his cock and stomach, and then looked back up at Ginny.

"You wouldn't wake up," she said accusingly, her voice trembling.

"Look, it's just– it's not something you can understand. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She was quiet for a moment. "Were you with him, then?" she whispered. "Before me? I didn't– I never knew."

"What?" He stared at her, trying to process what she was saying, before the full horror hit him that he had probably been talking in his sleep, having sex with Remus in his sleep and _saying_ everything he'd said to him. Oh, _God_. "No." His jaw clenched. "I didn't. I wasn't. This is just... I don't know what this is."

"You have to talk to someone, Harry. This isn't normal. You can't continue like this, night after night."

He stared at her. "I can't continue like _what_?" A sudden anger welled up inside him. She couldn't take this away from him. Remus was his now, finally. He wouldn't let her ruin it. "I'm not the one you need to worry about, anyway. What about James, huh? What about all the shit _he's_ getting up to in the middle of the night?"

Her mouth fell open. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, right, your precious first-born. He'd never take a cock up the arse, yeah? Is that what you think? Just his depraved old dad, out of his fucking mind and having sex dreams about someone who died twenty-five years ago. Fine. I'll _show_ you what he's been up to." He threw the sheets aside and jumped out of the bed.

"Harry, you're scaring me," she said, her voice shaking. "What are you on about? James is asleep down the hall! At least, I _hope_ he is." She glared at him. "He's already heard too many of your nightmares this week," she bit out. "If he heard _that _one, or any of the kids, for that matter, I don't know what the hell we're supposed to tell them."

"Yeah, me and my demons," Harry muttered. "Listen to that. Can't you hear it?" Just like that, as though flipping a switch on, Teddy and James filtered back into Harry's consciousness.

"Tell me what you want this time."

"Anything. God, it doesn't even matter. Want your mouth on me, want your cock inside me, want you to pin me down and come all over me."

"Yeah? You want to get dirty?"

"Fuck me, Teddy. Harder than last time."

"Don't think that's possible. You could barely sit down all day after last night."

"_Harder._ You think I'm just a kid? You think I can't take it?"

"Oh, I know you can take it. Just like your dad used to take it, yeah?"

"God, don't talk about that, not now."

"What, the way my dad used to fuck your dad? You didn't know the saviour of the Wizarding world liked it up the arse, just like his son?"

"Shut up and _fuck me_. Shut up about my dad. That's disgusting."

"He's spent twenty-five years pining for my old man, you know. He looks at me and all he sees is my dad, fucking him into a wall. Why do you think he won't look me in the eye?"

"Shut _up_. That's not true. You're being a dickhead. God, just come here, would you? I want to come in your mouth. Come on, Teddy..."

"STOP!" Harry roared, storming down the hall towards James's room. The voices grew louder and louder as he approached, seeping into his brain and bubbling under his skin. It wasn't fair; they shouldn't be allowed to have this. He and Remus weren't allowed to have it; Harry had been too young, and then there had been Tonks, and the war, and then he'd died, he'd gone and fucking _died_, leaving Harry to box it all up and never think about it again, not until this week, and James didn't deserve Teddy, didn't deserve to have a Lupin in his bed when Harry couldn't, and God, Remus, you should never have been there that night, you had a little baby at home, a life and a family and I killed you, I killed you, it's all my fault – _Fuck, Teddy, push it in harder, God, yes, you fucking animal, come all over me, come inside me, suck back every drop of my come and let me have every inch of you, yeah, just do it, do it, harder than that, yes, God, yes_ – It's all my fault, it's all my fault –

"Harry!" Ginny ran down the hall after him, but it was too late. He burst through James's bedroom door, the voices chanting in his head and the nightmares crashing through his veins.

"Get off of him!" he bellowed, storming over to James's bed and tearing the blankets back. "You can't have him!" he screamed. "You can't! I couldn't have him, and you can't either!"

"Harry!" Ginny ran into the room and grabbed Harry's arm, just as James jumped out of bed and grabbed his wand from the bedside table.

"Dad! What the _hell_?" His eyes darted around quickly as Harry continued to shout at him. "Mum, get back," he ordered.

"Where is he?" said Harry, whirling around. "Tell him to get out here and face me, dammit. He owes me a fucking explanation. He thinks he's so smart, him _and_ his fucking father. Where is he?" He shoved Ginny off him and turned on James again, his body thrumming with anger and magic and despair and every thrashing demon he'd tried to fight back for twenty-five years.

"_Stupefy_!" shouted James, pointing his wand at Harry as Ginny jumped out of the way.

Harry's limbs locked in place and he fell onto the bed, and as he faded out of consciousness and Teddy's voice continued to float through his head, murmuring filth in James's ear, he realised something with the gravity of a dead weight thudding down to the pit of his stomach:

James had been alone in the room.

***

 

Wearing dark charcoal robes and having changed his normally blue hair to a sombre brown for the occasion, Teddy Lupin stepped up to the podium, coughed quietly and pointed his wand at his throat.

"I want to thank everyone for coming tonight," he began, his voice magically enhanced to echo around the auditorium. "I've never really given a speech like this, so, uh, you'll have to forgive me if I'm not quite as good at it as some of the other speakers tonight. My godfather, Harry Potter, would be the best person to deliver this speech, since he knew my dad the best of anyone left alive now, but I hope you'll all forgive me for stepping in at the last minute. Harry wanted to be here, of course, but, uh... It's been a hard week for him, as you can imagine, and his family thought it best if he stayed home to rest.

"And so, on this day, the Twenty-fifth Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, I'm proud to stand up here and say a few words about my mum and dad, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, who died defending the school from Voldemort's attack..."

 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Things I couldn't tell you at the beginning: The recipient also said she'd be fine with mindfuck, character death, insanity, despair, ambiguous endings, and hopelessness. :)


End file.
